“Oh for God’s sake” I said to myself upon hearing that my kidney infection had evolved into blood and urosepsis and pneumonia with a side cervical neck strain. (Kidney, blood and lung infections)

“This just keeps on getting better and better”, I snarked to myself in dismay but then smiled when I realized that it was actually quite accurate. 

“For the joy set before Him, He endured.” I’m still repeating that and it’s starting to come together. It’s like the joy of Genesis 50:20 when Joseph tells his brothers who wanted to kill him:

"You intended to harm me, but 
God intended it for good
 to accomplish what is now being done,
 the saving of many lives."
Genesis 50:20 

For God’s sake, for His glory, for the revealing of how much He cares for me in my ridiculous mushrooming cloud of distress so that others might see… Yes, He could step in and take it all away but maybe His plans are bigger than that.

For the joy set before Him, He endured… 

Our song on Sunday put it this way: 

The Lamb
by Elevation Worship

You did not suffer for nothing
When You shed your blood
Every drop was on purpose
What amazing love

And as You knelt in the garden
Was I on Your mind?
What was the joy set before You?
Was my heart Your prize? 

And may the Lamb receive His reward in me
And may the Lamb receive all the glory

…That is, may God’s presence and care in my trouble be seen and known by all who look. God is good, ALL the time.

I was in the ER recently with kidney stone-like pain. I was not, shall we say, impressed with my earthly care. I was impressed, however, with my heavenly care which, by the way, included a penny that fell from my pajama pocket and rolled across the ER floor…In God, we trust…

(Who has a penny in their pajama pocket? Anyway…)

In the face of the unrelenting pain, my body rocked back and forth in a futile, ever moving motion, my elbows pushed deep into my sitting thighs, my body hunched over as I gripped my head with my hands, eyes slammed shut. Trying to calm my sharp, rapid breathing, I attempted to remember to breathe deep and slow but to no avail as moments later those thoughts were lost again in the cycle of my misery.  The pain had an overarching, repetitive insistency that continued, in various positions for hours.

I was grateful for my mask that recycled my CO2 and kept my hyperventilating self in partial check  but, most importantly, for the one thought that cycled with it, echoing from my Pastor’s Sunday sermon from Heb 12:2.

“For the joy set before Him,

 He endured the cross”

Heb 12:2

I repeated it within the constancy of the pain. Now please do not misunderstand me, I’m not some superhuman Christian, although I do know Him, who can reason all this out in the face of ridiculous pain. I simply grabbed on to that which was offered and focused on it, eyes slammed shut, until I could see again. And this is what I saw.

For the joy, blessings, rightness that would come from His pain, He endured. He endured so I could endure. He could, so I can. He did so I will. I clung to these words. Holding them, claiming them as tightly as I gripped my head. 

The Word of God, like a tether anchored in my past drawn through to my future, a steady hand grip through the turbulence of my now.

The power of God’s Word pulling me through to safety. 

For the joy…for the joy…

We are treated to a Saturday excursion on Prison Island off the Zanzibar coast. “No prisoners were ever housed on the island and instead it became a quarantine station for yellow fever cases. The station was only occupied for around half of the year and the rest of the time it was a popular holiday destination.” Hmmm…

The starfish story comes to life as Joe brings me a live starfish, stiff in the sand, he tosses it back into the crystal blue-turquoise waters. It made a difference to that one, I think. The sea breezes are strong and persistent, mimicking the constancy of the waves as the tide comes in.

Tiny birds peek out from the ramparts of the prison courtyard walls. Their cheerful melody belies the painful history of this place. The chains in the bar attest to a different, distant past.

The enormous trees bark and call with the loud song of the peacock. Other peacocks in all their finery parade in a line as couples. The air is filled with the smell of fallen leaves and the fresh sea breeze.

This is also the home to an Aldabra giant tortoises sanctuary,  which is, of course, dotted with tortoises, giant and small. The youngest is newborn and tiny, the oldest, enormous @60 years. They meet us at the door, blocking the path, and eagerly take the cabbage leaves we are given and offer. 

Mikel climbs on the back of one with joy shining from his face. The bearer pays no mind as he enjoys his brunch. They slowly, though effectively, lumber among us like moving boulders while others bask in mud baths and snacks below the bridge. There is a nursery where tiny palm size little ones crawl among the watermelon bites in a center bin. Bigger babies are in a larger enclosure surrounding the small bin. They dine on cabbage leaves.

Joe asks Mikel, “Do you want to learn to swim?” Mikel answers with a vigorous “Yes!” And heads for the water. Joe calls him back.”First lesson,” he says and he lies down in the sand. He calls Mikel back from the waters edge insisting he lay down beside him where they make sand angels to practice a swimmer’s arm movements in the water. Returning to the turbulent water, Joe holds M’s body and has him practice the sand angel movements. They are soon distracted and throw rocks into the waves. Sitting together, they wish for a boogie board.

It is pouring rain this morning. It makes patterns on the ocean surface. A lone man swims in the pebbled waters. His strong arms in rhythmic succession moving his body seamlessly across the coolness. He is swimming towards the distant rainbow where the sea meets the sky. 

There is a motorcyclist that passes by with an umbrella attached to his bike. It has an attachment to cover the rear. It would be completely useless in a sideways slanting monsoon back home.

Today I feel stronger, more alert and find I am eager for the challenges that come with long patient lines. The antibiotics must be turning me around.

Joe is in his second day of running his own assignment: nutrition. He and his interpreter greet every patient, obtain a height and weight and calculate a ‘Z Score’ which tells us the degree of malnutrition in each child. He works diligently, always with his cheering squad of children at the window behind him. When the work is done, he will join them on the other side, much to everyone’s delight.

Pascal, my interpreter, has vanished. Charles has taken his place. Charles is a well dressed Tanzanian in a suit. He tells me he is the chairman of an overseeing church organization whose name I don’t catch. He carries himself with confidence and a sense of importance. For a moment I am flush with a sense of inadequacy but it quickly passes as I realize God has hand picked him for me and me for him. He tells me later that he thinks I must be a good nurse because I’m always busy helping others and moving back and forth a lot and, indeed, I have been in constant motion.

We begin by seeing our interpreters and support staff but this quickly evolves into something else.

Kelly gives me my own line for those she wants seen on the sly, that is out of the main queue. In this line, I also put Dr. Salma’s patients who are waiting for blood sugar tests which I have been doing for her. In between, I am consulting with Pat, Dr. Vic and Dr. Ahmad while giving shots for pharmacy and even doing tests on my own patients. Apparently, being pulled hither and yon gives the air of good nursing and this makes me laugh suspiciously.

The cool breeze from the window helps to give me a moment to refocus on my priorities but I am abruptly interrupted by a raucous runaway cow-drawn cart that rushes across the playground. I catch only a glimpse as it flashes past. It is not long, however, before it comes trotting reasonably back with its human commander back in the lead with no apparent injuries!

On this final day of clinic, I think of this school’s motto:

In the beginning, we came together as random Developing Workers team members. We joined with other workers from different countries in two different clinics and made progress as we cared for the communities. In working together, we became a family, God’s family, to many who have never seen Him. And in this, we find a success that will last for eternity.

The water is golden today, smooth as glass as the sun peaks over the shipping yard. Philip and I used to imagine roller blading on heaven’s streets of gold. Since Jesus walked on water, why not rollerblade?

I have had low back pain all week. Chocked it up to jet lag and tried to stretch the muscles  with no effect. Today I did one of the urine tests that I have been doing on so many patients. It turns out, I am not the complete weakling I thought I was, instead, I have a possible kidney infection … nothing a good antibiotic won’t pummel!

Today is a day of pairs. First, one of our CSI volunteers, whom we call heroes, is a young darling who brings her elderly mother-in-law to me. Hand in hand they slowly come, the young beauty leading the older one. She leans in close over her seated MIL and explains with a tender smile that she has come to translate for my translator who will translate for me because her MIL does not speak Swahili. I cannot keep from smiling at the sweetness of this duo and though Mama is shy at first, I manage to coax a smile from her as well. 

Second, a young man brings in his grandfather . The older man cannot see well which is evident by his slow, shuffling walk. The younger one leads him gently by the hand. He is dressed in a long white tunic and wears a yellow box hat, a kufi, on his head. His face is wrinkled and dark, his eyes cloudy but his smile is undeniable. It is such a precious sight.

Towards the end of the day, I am blessed by a small one dressed in a fine twirly dress with a sweater tied around her waist. She is holding the hand of her friend in an equally twirly dress. When she turns around I see that she has an empty water bottle tucked inside the sweater. It is her baby that she is carrying just like the African Mamas do. I am delighted by this exquisite sweetness and light.  

Maybe it is the kidney infection making me more susceptible to my emotions but I am wordless and tearful. There are many difficult things here but this tips the scales to the bright side.There is something so right about the nurturing bonds of community.

Grateful,                                                     Z-Anne-zibar                                                     Thursday, September 8, 2022

I start the day recognizing and sitting with the powerlessness of yesterday magnified. Joe has spent last night in the bathroom and he will stay home today with these stomach issues. Sixteen is, after all, an age to get used to😉. I joke to myself but my heart is as diminished as the overcast light of the coming day. The sea is flat though shimmery. I open my Bible seeking to capture a bit of shimmer myself. I open to:

"Be strong in His mighty power"                Ephesians 6:10

My shimmer acquisition lies in the arms and armor of my Savior. I claim His promise of strength in His mighty power and await the return of my shimmer as I trust Him with my day.

People line the length of the school waiting for us as we arrive. The school children are intermingled and wearing blue Adidas sweat pants with marroon t-shirts. Yesterday we had given out 100 numbers to people to return to clinic today. There are more than that here this morning.

I am rising to go to lunch when Kelly calls to me as she hurries out the front door. “Bring a liter of fluid, someone is down outside.” 

Under a tree surrounded by the crowd, I find Dr. Vic, Dr. Ahmed and Kelly hovering over a pale older man who is sitting up and in obvious distress. A chair is retrieved and becomes a makeshift, rather flimsy transport to a small room off the sanctuary.

We suspect he is having a heart attack. He is pale, sweating and breathing crazy fast, while complaining of chest pain. I start an IV to give fluids, and we clamour around him doing various tests and urosepsis becomes part of his diagnosis though we write nothing down. Kelly asks about how to get him to a hospital and we are told that the nearest hospital won’t have what needs…not even oxygen. I think back to a line in the movie The Princess Bride: ” I do not think that means what he thinks it means.” They decide the military hospital will be a better fit.

An  ambulance is called and … then we wait…and wait… two hours later a minivan of sorts rolls up. A young man wearing a khaki military uniform jumps out. After a brisk discussion with Dr. Ahmed, they walk our patient to the van. Dr. A goes with him and begins to rally the facts of the case. I remind him of all, or at least most, of what we did and off they all go. It is a bizarre but bush medicine at its probable best.

I return to my regularly scheduled programming. A concerned young man in a sharp green polo comes to me and he is a talker. Pascal listens but can hardly get a word in edgewise. I laugh to myself and imagine what he could possibly be saying. Every question I ask is answered with a soliloquy.  Today, the providers have been asked to speed up a bit but I lean in and give him the listening ear he so obviously needs.

Shimmering. Z-Anne-zibar Wednesday, September 7,2022

I start the day recognizing and sitting with the powerlessness of yesterday magnified. Joe has spent last night in the bathroom and he will stay home today with these stomach issues. Sixteen is, after all, an age to get used to😉. I joke to myself but my heart is as diminished as the overcast light of the coming day. The sea is flat though shimmery. I open my Bible seeking to capture a bit of shimmer myself. I open to:

“Be strong in His mighty power” Ephesians 6:10

My shimmer acquisition lies in the arms and armor of my Savior. I claim His promise of strength in His mighty power and await the return of my shimmer as I trust Him with my day.

People line the length of the school waiting for us as we arrive. The school children are intermingled and wearing blue Adidas sweat pants with marroon t-shirts. Yesterday we had given out 100 numbers to people to return to clinic today. There are more than that here this morning.

I am rising to go to lunch when Kelly calls to me as she hurries out the front door. “Bring a liter of fluid, someone is down outside.”
Under a tree surrounded by the crowd, I find Dr. Vic, Dr. Ahmed and Kelly hovering over a pale older man who is sitting up and in obvious distress. A chair is retrieved and becomes a makeshift, rather flimsy transport to a small room off the sanctuary.

We suspect he is having a heart attack. He is pale, sweating and breathing crazy fast, while complaining of chest pain. I start an IV to give fluids, and we clamour around him doing various tests and urosepsis becomes part of his diagnosis though we write nothing down. Kelly asks about how to get him to a hospital and we are told that the nearest hospital won’t have what needs…not even oxygen. I think back to a line in the movie The Princess Bride: ” I do not think that means what he thinks it means.” They decide the military hospital will be a better fit.

An ambulance is called and … then we wait…and wait… two hours later a minivan of sorts rolls up. A young man wearing a khaki military uniform jumps out. After a brisk discussion with Dr. Ahmed, they walk our patient to the van. Dr. A goes with him and begins to rally the facts of the case. I remind him of all, or at least most, of what we did and off they all go. It is a bizarre but bush medicine at its probable best.

I return to my regularly scheduled programming. A concerned young man in a sharp green polo comes to me and he is a talker. Pascal listens but can hardly get a word in edgewise. I laugh to myself and imagine what he could possibly be saying. Every question I ask is answered with a soliloquy. Today, the providers have been asked to speed up a bit but I lean in and give him the listening ear he so obviously needs.

Shimmering,
Z-Anne-zibar
Wednesday, September 7, 2022

I look out on the sun kissed beach this morning to see brightly clad women having a tug of war. Next to them are three men lying in the sand doing rapid situps, another group pushing enormous tires. It is much like I was doing 16 years ago today as I gave birth to my youngest boy, Joe.
He is here in Zanzibar with me and as always, he delights me with his capacity to love the children and come alonside the adults as equals.

His birthday, pronounced bathday with a swahili accent, is actually a bath day at Pastor Johana’s church. On your birthday they dump a bucket of water on your head. Since most don’t bathe, they get a ‘bath’ on their birthday. Joe has made friends with the worship band drummer and he has promised a ‘Bath’ day for Joe. Because of this, Joe and I part ways for the day as he goes to Pastor Johana’s church and I to the country one of Pastor Lucas.

Already there is a long line of colorful head covered women waiting for us as we arrive at 8am sharp. They sit with unreadable faces until I call out a loud ‘Jambo’ with a smile and a wave. At this, their faces break into beaming joy. It is good to be seen, I think.

There is an equal number of purple uniformed children in the school play yard. The swing set is bent in half though this deters no one. They find a way to swing and climb anyway. The slide with platform on top is crowded with little ones who hang through the railing and swing. When they see I am watching, one boy slides head first down and hides at it’s base as if I would not see him. I call to him and to the others and try to get them to pose for a photo. There is a chaotic scrambling before I am able to succeed.

Farther down the way are an army of little ones jumping in the back of a small white truck. Its bed bounces with them as they chant, sing and dance. When they see me, others join, flinging themselves onto back of the truck like a zombie apocalypse. I fear for their safety yet their dexterity is unparalleled and the dancers, in their exuberance, continue unharmed.

Clinic begins with Dr. Salma at my side. She calls over a older woman and after some animated conversation, Dr. S tells me she prefers to see me. “Ha! What in the world?!” I exclaim as she moves her chair in front of me.

Pascal and I get in a sort of a rhythm. We still have our creative differences when it comes to understanding each other but we’ve got the #1 and #2 thing worked out. He chats easily with every patient and I sit back and let him do his magic. When it seems they have come to the end of their usually spirited conversation, I listen to his report and respond. I feel like I’m in slow motion today as I lean back and consider his words. It must seem like I am gazing off in space as I mentally work through each complaint, ruling out, ruling in…I wonder sometimes what it must be like to watch me.

As I wait for my next patient, I watch two little ones. The older girl (~3years) has the younger boy (~1 year) by the hand as they follow a small red balloon as it floats irregularly across the floor. When they come near it, they both try to kick it and then chase it gleefully with the precious vigor of children. Cheering and giggling, they are a delight to my heart and I marvel at the sweet rightness of this moment.

Nadia, their sister, is my next patient. She has come with her mama and her two siblings whom I have been watching. She is a shy 6 year old dressed in the vibrant purple uniform of the school.

As I am about to exam her, Steve comes over to insure that I have seen her Community Safety form. It tells me that her uncle has boasted that he wants to harm her though he has not yet. This makes me want to vomit and crushes my heart as I become acutely plugged into to my own struggles with powerlessness. This beautiful child so kind, so gentle, so innocent in beauty… I pray Ps 91 over her and myself:
“May she dwell in the shelter of the Almighty and abide in His shadow…for it is He Who delivers her from the snare of the trapper and from the deadly pestilence … give her Your angels charge over her, to guard her in all her ways…so that she will not strike her foot against a stone.” (my paraphrase)
Holy One, You are our only hope.

I end the day with a terrified 9 year old boy who had cut his finger yesterday. I have only to glance his way to illicit shrill unnerving sounds of terror. It does nothing to calm him when I pull out saline syringes to fill a cup for wound cleaning. He is quite undeniably sure I am going to give him a shot. In retrospect, it was a poor choice of carrier for my saline though I had little choice.

I wash his finger and put his hand in a bag of cleaner to soak. This calms him ever so slightly as he allows it, albeit grudgingly.

Dr. Ahmed comes over to inspect and decides debridement is warranted. In other words, he needs to cut off a piece of skin. This sends my little friend inti decibel defying torment though we are only holding his hand. The procedure itself is quick and easy but there is no convincing my friend. We try to shield his eyes but he keeps screaming, in Swahili, that he needs to see. He at last calms down to a ragged sobbing as we wrap his finger in gauze and coban, the ordeal over. He does need to come back Friday for a recheck. I wonder if he’ll make it to the door…

My feelings of powerlessness linger and I once again feel like I am in slow motion, staring off in space. I can’t quite wrap my mind around the feelings so I relish the distraction from the stories of Joe’s ‘bathday’.

He was surrounded and loved by team members and locals alike and he ‘soaked’ it all in with a depth that he will carry with him a long time. It is beautiful to see the team rally to his aid. This is the essence of clinic for all who come, teammate and local alike. The gift of being seen, heard and loved.

Blessed,
Z-Anne-zibar
September 6, 2022

Monday Clinic: September 5, 2022

As the sun peeks above the horizon, the waters become glowing with shimmering light; each boat brighter than the next as the sun rises. The silver still waters of the Indian Ocean stretch out like a cloudy glass waiting for the clarity that comes with the rising light of the sun. It is my story today as I, too, await the clarity of my Risen Son, Jesus. We have a grand plan for clinic today and we trust every detail to He Who has sent us.

Pasquel, my interpreter and father of 7, has a thick accent and is as difficult to understand as, I realized, my thick accent is for him. We struggled at the start but the pivot comes when he can not understand ‘poop’. I try my whole arsenal of words but have to resort to asking Pastor Peter to translate. With a quick laugh, we decide on #1 and #2. This helps us to accommodate each other and creates a whole new flow. While I take vitals he starts asking questions so that when I am done, we are ready.

I work beside Dr. Salma, the National District Officer from the government. She is a lovely, young Pediatric resident. Well spoken, tenderhearted and kind, I wonder what her take of me will be. My answer comes quickly as she treats me with respect, gratitude and confidence.

I am the blood sugar and urinalysis queen today; poking and dipping the majority of the patients between Dr. S and myself. So much high blood pressure, urinary tract infections and potential diabetes in the 40years and up crowd. They are so young.

Throughout the day, I watch a tiny walking girl who blasts in at will and kicks balloons and giggles, ducking under the dividing tapes, she is unstoppable. Her long flannel tunic and jeans cinches her whole aura of confidence and command. This simple endearing sight energizes my resolve with the delight of it all.

Towards the end of clinic, a barefoot, tiny, round elderly man wearing a box hat, typical of Muslim men, returns to me. I had seen him earlier in the day. I am with a patient but he reaches over and takes my hands to thank me. It is the sweetest, most tender moment of my day.

It is easy for me to get lost in the long lines and difficulties of my patients. I sort of lose myself sometimes as I put my head down and plug on. It is times like the man above when I am reminded that I am seen and that my contribution matters. The gratitude in this room from my patients, interpreters and leaders is echoed by my own gratitude at being invited in to be a part of God’s work. It is the circle of being blessed to be a blessing to be blessed to be a blessing…

Blessed by the journey,
Z-Anne-zibar

Sunday, September 4, 2022

The Chosen Devotional
“Kindness is not complicated. Our Savior went out of His way to patch us up and bring us to safety despite the great personal cost. Why? So that we might help those who need help and demonstrate what it means to be love.” It may come with personal cost but we, as believers, know that cost has already been paid. We know that kindness matters. It’s why we listen to God’s call and go where He sends. It’s why we have come to Zanzibar.

I love how the rising sun illuminates the fishing boats on the sea before it’s actual rising. They are aglow with the promise and beauty that this new day brings.
The coconut palms flutter in the sea breezes as the dark birds dance on their branches. From our second floor breakfast porch, at eye level, we are welcomed into their living room.

The other day, Joe asked me why I raised my hand in the air when I prayed. He told me I looked like an old black woman in church. Today he got to see me with my real black women in church, arms held high in praise. We had such a praise fest with just enough of an island beat to get me dancing in my seat and beyond. It has me smiling even now.

I sang along making up my own words to mingle with their Swahili. ” What is impossible for me, is possible for You. Fall afresh with Your possibilities.”

Pastor Johana called the team to the front and had each of us introduce ourselves and some of us said more than our names. I thought Joe might be uncomfortable speaking but when it came to him, much to my surprise, he said, “We are living proof that God’s love is everywhere.” And, he was quick to point out that he was the only team member to get applause.

Michael gave the message and beautifully tied God’s story to our own. God is able to come exactly where we are now, alongside each one of us, and help us to rewrite our life stories from here on out. We are not left in our difficulties, we are invited to overcome them through His kindness.

We come to be kind and then receive so much kindness in return. It is the cycle of giving put in place by God, Himself: God so loved the world that He gave..” John 3:16

Blessed,
Z-Anne-zibar